Kryptonite

First, it came for my mom. And
even though she was strong and fought hard, it took her.

It took my son’s namesake – the
man who taught me about grace.

And now, it’s staring down the
face of my dad with aggressive intimidation.

Cancer is a real hero’s kryptonite.

And grief is mine.

I’m amazed today (I might mean “I’m
angry today”) at how the world keeps moving at its unbroken pace, completely
oblivious to the fact that I’m internally screaming at it to stop, or at very
least slow down so I can have a minute to process.

On the other hand, I guess I need
that pace to keep me moving so I’m not tempted to plop down my worn baggage and
unpack in this state of anger and grief and every other emotion I loathe, but
that I feel in a very real and raw way right now.

“Just a minute!” I plead.

But this is life.

And it feels unfortunately
familiar.

I step out onto my back porch
this morning, sit down and just listen.

I strain to hear sounds that calm
me, like signing birds. I don’t have the strength to turn my face to the sun,
so I curl into my knees and let the warmth soak into my back instead.